


Euphoria

by swooning



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swooning/pseuds/swooning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps she should have changed into something more appropriate than the Admiral's bathrobe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Euphoria

She could tell what Bill was thinking. His thoughts followed her down the hall like his eyes wanted to, and she could feel him even as she left him behind. He was thinking that he had never seen her like this. And although he didn't know it, she had never actually been like this. Pushing people, even him, out of her way in her single-minded determination to move into the next second of her life. The doloxan, only prolonging the end, had made her dread each of the additional moments she had gained. Now, free from poison and waking to the possibility that what she did mattered less than she had imagined, she leapt towards each approaching fraction of her remaining time with a zest she had never felt in her life.

Euphoria, Cottle said. He had certainly been free with the information. What else had he told Bill, she wondered? Old men, gruffly quantifying the miraculous. Her chamalla visions had just been drug-induced hallucinations, and now her body's resurgence was just the phenomenon of the doloxan vacating the premises. Nothing more. If they cared to think of it that way, Laura thought, it was their loss, and she simply couldn't bring herself to mind. It had become, as so many other things, completely beside the point.

Earth? Also beside the point.

What the frak did people want, anyway? Liars, they called their leaders. But in point of fact Laura and Bill and the others had led them to Earth. Not their fault Earth had been rendered a wasteland thousands of years before their arrival. They had done it, kept their word. But people's expectations were not met. And, Laura had realized with a flash of insight that left her feeling empty, weary beyond measure despite her rush of energy, people's expectations would never, ever be met. No matter what she did, or Bill did. No matter what miracles were wrought or knowledge attained. It would never be enough. So frak them. Let them stare, let them talk, but just let them get the hell out of her way so she could run into her future as fast as she could. And she would be frakked if she was going to share any more of her personal miracles with them.

Frakked. Laura smiled, feeling lit from the inside. It had been a long time. Bill's agreement had been grudging, uneasy. But he had agreed. True, he might not have realized exactly what he was agreeing to. But she would still hold him to it. She had earned it, and she would take it. She knew he might try to pull back, to make it into something else, to withhold himself out of some idiotic sense of self-sacrifice or bad timing. But Laura had done with denial. She was willing to push the point, just as she was willing to push the stupid staring clumps of people out of her way when they didn't move fast enough.

What did the crew say when they ran through the ship? Oh yes, "Make a hole." Well, she was the President still. The people were keen enough on having a separation between the executive and the military. So she would just run, and push if she had to, because she wasn't a member of the crew and she never had been. Let them figure it out for themselves or suffer the godsdamned consequences.

Her smile turned into a laugh, and she recognized that her runner's high had reached a dangerous point. She knew she had to stop, to let her muscles rest, let her mind come down. But even as she turned around to head to Bill's quarters, she was formulating a plan for her next round of exercise. Stretching for length and flexibility, running to get the cardiovascular system going...and finally, rounding the whole thing off with some very focused work on certain long-neglected muscle groups.

She thought her strength training might benefit from some additional atmosphere, and she wondered idly whether Bill had anything in his cabin that might help set the mood.

***

A hot shower. A meal, ordered over the comm, and when the young crew member brought it and saw no Admiral in evidence, damned if Laura didn't just smirk and let the boy draw his own conclusions. Those conclusions would be accurate soon enough, after all. Not quite soon enough for Laura's taste, though. Having made her decision, taken the risk, she was eager to move things along. Hungry, even. _Needy_.

_Horny as a teenager,_ she thought, and giggled into the silence of the cabin.

Perhaps she should have changed into something more appropriate than the Admiral's bathrobe.

_Frak it_. It was a comfortable bathrobe. It smelled like Bill, and she liked wearing it. She considered how much of her internal dialogue these days consisted of the words "frak it", but decided that on the whole it was probably a healthier attitude than she had taken in months.

Years? How long had it been? New Caprica, that was the last time. The groundbreaking ceremony. The time they didn't talk about. The time they blamed the alcohol and the weed, and they both decided to live for the moment for once. They lived for the moment on a blanket a few hundred yards into the scrub outside the tent city. The stars were hazy, Laura recalled, although that might have been the drugs. She had been on her back, but she felt like she was falling anyway, falling into Bill. Her orgasm struck her as a completely novel sensation; she hadn't recalled them feeling quite that way. Perhaps they never had.

Then they lived for another moment in her tent an hour or so later, slightly less drug-addled but no less ravenous for one another. Bill had flicked on the electric lantern, and she had instantly reached to flick it off again, mindful of the shadows cast against the tent walls and potentially visible to passers-by.

"I want to see you this time," Bill said, firm and compelling, still high enough to be honest. "I wanna see you when I'm frakking you."

Hearing him say it was almost as good as having him do it. His hand, circling her breast with surprising delicacy, sent flickers of heat far beyond the skin it touched. Laura bit her bottom lip and arched shamelessly into his caress, placing her own hand over his and trying to nudge his fingers toward her nipple.

"They'll see us," she insisted. "They'll see the shadows. And if the light is on people will think I'm awake, they might want to come in."

"I wanna see you," Bill repeated, as though she was missing the point and he was through being patient. He lowered his lips to her nipple and sucked hard, flicking the nub of dimpled firmness with a determined tongue until Laura whimpered and dropped her hand to grab the blanket they were spread out on.

"Gods, Bill," she murmured. But her next sound was a mewl of dismay at the loss of that heated contact on her skin. Bill stood, gloriously unconcerned with his nudity, already-hard penis bobbing gently as he rummaged through their discarded clothing to retrieve the skirt she had been wearing. Thrown over the lantern, it allowed only a dim red glow to escape, not sharp enough to throw shadows, barely bright enough to see by.

It would have to do. It _would_ do. They would make do. That was the way, now. For all of them. Sometimes Laura marveled at the ingenuity she saw displayed throughout the makeshift settlement, the means by which people contrived some semblances of the luxuries - no, the everyday conveniences - they had once taken for granted. Now a skirt on a camp lantern was mood lighting, and the ambience was just fine for their purposes.

A romantic candlelit dinner, a fine wine and a thick rug in front of a cozy fireplace, that would have been the ideal. But this was all they had now. So... frak it.

Now, on Galactica, after months of celibacy and conflict and anxiety and doloxan therapy and every other damned unpleasant circumstance she had dealt with, Laura was suddenly feeling fantastic. And she craved contact. She craved sex, more to the point. She craved Bill, specifically, and she was in no mood to listen to any further protest from the Admiral on this subject. And if he tried to protest? Frak it. She would ignore him and do exactly what she wanted to do.

But she doubted he would protest strongly. She sensed a certain amount of "frak it" from Bill these days, as well. And, like a man, he would think that he might persuade her back into doloxan treatments by sheer force of his sexual prowess. And Laura was not above letting him think he might succeed in that, if it meant more sex.

Here, she remembered, there were candles. At least they could have those. She lit the few she could find, using the matches Bill had left in his ashtray the last time he and Saul had smoked foul-smelling cigars with their foul-tasting hooch. Saul. A Cylon. One of the final five.

Laura sighed and shrugged, dismissing that thought as un-useful. Banishing it, if only temporarily. A match nearly scorched her fingertips and she cursed softly, blowing out the flame out and dropping the spent stick in the ashtray. She was just placing the candle on the ledge at the head of Bill's bunk when she heard the hatch opening, heard Bill greeting the guard and then bidding him goodnight. Closing the hatch. He hadn't noticed her yet, sitting on his bunk, one long leg completely revealed because his robe was falling open.

She realized she didn't have her scarf on. Then she decided she didn't care. Frak it. He'd seen her naked scalp before. Her head wasn't the important area, here, quite frankly.

He sniffed, his forehead wrinkling as he caught the scent of the burnt matches and burning wicks. Then the candles, then realization dawning as his eyes tracked across the room and landed on her.

"How was your day?" She asked too brightly. She hadn't realized she was tense until she said it, until she heard her own voice.

It was the saving of her. Bill, sensing weakness, would always instinctively move in for the kill. And she was happy to be the prey.

"I've had better. Do you actually want to hear about it?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Do I need to ask what you do want?"

"I certainly hope not."

He had started to move towards her, taking his jacket off, not a striptease but a simple disrobing, what he always did at the end of the day. "So it's a good idea now? Because you want it? Because all of a sudden you're in the mood?"

She couldn't suppress a smirk at the hint of anger in his tone. Anger was akin to passion, and she knew it was a step in the right direction. "That's right. Because I want to. And you want to. And we've both earned it. And if we haven't, then frak it anyway, because we both want it.

His belt was off now, his shoes toed off and socks stripped away, and he was staring at his toes as though wondering whether to clip the nails. Everyday. Ordinary. Unconcerned. And a lie. Laura moved her leg deliberately, circling her foot and flexing her calf muscle. With supreme satisfaction she caught the flick of his eyes in her direction, tracing the line of her leg to where it disappeared under the terrycloth of his robe. _His_ robe.

"I see you borrowed my robe."

"You want it back?" She made as if to untie the sash, and Bill gave up the pretense and turned his head in her direction.

"Laura..." It was a warning. A last chance. Her fingers tugged the knot loose and slowly pulled the long tail of the sash free, letting it fall. The robe was still mostly closed over her, only a long, narrow strip of pale skin revealed by the gap in the fabric. The flesh drew his eyes like a magnet. When he spoke again his voice was thick, rough. "Yeah, I want it back."

"Wrestle you for it?"

He snorted, his composure slipping marginally. "Oh, you think you can take me?"

The look she leveled at him was filled with humor, smugness, unashamed eagerness. She would do more than flirt, now that the outcome was assured. She adjusted her leg slightly, causing the robe to shift. She wasn't looking down, couldn't be sure how much more she had uncovered, but when she saw Bill's eyes glaze and his lips part in a wordless gasp, she figured she had exposed enough to do the job.

"Bill, I am quite sure I can take anything you can dish out."

"Frak," he whispered, still staring, seeming rooted to the ground. Laura finally followed his gaze and saw that indeed she was baring almost everything important from the waist down.

"Hmm." She shrugged. Now, later, it really didn't matter when these things happened. It did seem a bit out of order, however. She lifted her arms and pressed her hands behind her neck, stretching langorously, well aware of the effect. Rough terrycloth slipped, caught, and then slipped again, revealing one breast, nipple already taut in the cool air of the cabin. Laura smiled lazily at Bill, feeling in complete control for one glorious moment.

It was only a moment. She knew she was done for when he smiled back, baring his teeth, all predatory awareness and animal cunning. It was perfect. She was utterly ready to be done for, and utterly ready to be done. Laura shivered involuntarily as Bill stalked the few steps to the bunk and stood over her, eyeing her up and down. Her giddiness of earlier in the day still simmered, and she felt it threatening to bubble up again, spill over into giggles and silliness. She had a sudden insane urge to shove Bill's tanks up and blow a raspberry on his stomach. Just the thought made her snicker, her breath catching into a little whimper at the end. It wasn't a sultry sound, but Bill didn't seem to care.

"Best two out of three falls?" he asked. It took her a moment to bring her mind back around to wrestling.

"Nope. One round, winner take all. Wouldn't want to wear you out." Another giggle. She wanted to fling herself at him, and wondered why she didn't. No real reason, except the talk was fun, too. But the euphoria was making her feel a little desperate, now. "Oh, frak it."

And she did fling herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly so he couldn't escape as she pressed her lips to his, nearly whining with impatience.

To Bill's credit, he shifted gears quickly, nibbling her lips open and then distracting her with his tongue while he freed her arms from around his neck and reclaimed his bathrobe. He broke away just long enough to fling it over a chair, out of Laura's reach, not that she was interested in wearing it or anything else just then. Or perhaps for the rest of the night.

It was necessary, getting that first kiss out of the way, getting that business behind them so they could move forward. When Bill turned back to her, Laura slid her arms around his neck again, nestling her hands in his hair and waiting for him. He didn't disappoint. As if he knew that this was the real kiss, the real opener, he took his time and set things up just so, cradling her head and tipping it just so, brushing his thumbs along her jaw as he lowered his head. Pausing, taking his time now as if time was something they had, he skimmed his lips over hers but resisted the temptation to deepen the kiss right away. Setting the mood, the way things would be; Laura, beside herself with enthusiasm, and Bill torturing her sweetly by drawing things out as long as possible.

So he let her pull his tanks up but made no move to lift his arms and allow her to take them off. He just kept going, kissing her, ignoring the impatient, teasing thump of her fist against his side - her silent protest against being thwarted. She knew full well what he was doing. But she needed his cooperation, so she had to put up with a certain amount of this. And even her limited experience with him taught her to trust his instinct. He would reward her in the end, and it would be so good, even if she was driven crazy with need in the meantime.

"Bill, just take your frakking clothes off!" she snapped, the third or fourth time he had interfered with her efforts to disrobe him. His chuckle, knowing and confident, was just infuriating. To retaliate - or at least attempt to retaliate - Laura cut to the chase and reached down to grip his cock firmly through the heavy fabric of his uniform slacks. "Please. If you don't mind. If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Her too-polite, clipped tone was his undoing. He loved when she pulled the teacher face, when her anger or irritation forced her voice into little shards of precision. For some reason it always made him want to take her against the nearest wall, something he had never had the opportunity to do. He flexed his hips into her hand and stripped his tanks off in one easy motion, then pushed her hand aside so he could unfasten his pants. She was already hooking her hands into the waistband, snagging his briefs at the same time, pulling the whole works free of his erection and down to his knees with a practiced yank. Seconds later he had kicked the garments away from his feet and was climbing onto the bunk, pushing Laura down, pinning her hands by her head and lining up his next attack.

A kiss, rough this time, teeth and tongues and Laura moaning into his mouth. She arched her back, tried to get closer to his body, but he was on all fours and she couldn't quite manage it. She had to settle for wrapping her legs around his, lifting one foot to press down pointedly against his ass. He wasn't going for it. He enjoyed it, she knew, enjoyed hearing her grow more and more frustrated, frantic with lust. Bastard.

"Bastard," she muttered when he finally freed her mouth and shifted his attention elsewhere, to other maddening spots.

Bill grunted noncommittally and sucked on her neck just below her ear, an area he recalled fondly for its sensitivity. True to his memory, Laura gasped and moaned and wriggled beneath him, and his cock twitched in anticipation. Later, as much later as he could stand it, he would return to that spot while he was buried inside her.

She tried to pull her hands free, but Bill kept them pinned firmly until he slid further down her body, paying brief homage to her breasts before skimming his lips down her belly and straight to the heated dampness between her legs. All Laura could do was tug at his hair and moan as he licked her greedily, only occasionally flicking his tongue or the tip of a finger over her clit. Just to keep her focused.

As if she could focus on anything else. She was so tense with need she was shaking, and her cunt was impossibly slick as he slid two fingers into her. Probing there, slipping them in and out too slowly to do more than tease, his head lifted now to gauge her reactions. She writhed, trying to shift her hips to some different angle, gain some form of additional stimulation, but to no avail. When Bill carefully parted her slit to reveal her clit fully, and pressed his tongue there once, she clenched around his fingers and groaned. She could barely form the pleading words she knew he wanted to hear, the stream of needy begging that would finally convince him she could take no more.

She had been so near that point when they started, anyway, that now she felt reduced to a bundle of raw nerves, one giant erogenous zone hovering on the brink of orgasm and denied by the whim of the one person who could satisfy that need.

"Please, Bill. _Please_?" she whimpered, and she could sense that the smug bastard was smiling in triumph, even though her eyes were squeezed shut so hard she could see flashing lights in the darkness behind her lids. "Gods, please, just do it, just frak me, _pleasepleaseplease_..."

"Shhh," he whispered, hypocritically soothing, but she didn't care as long as he was climbing back up her frantic body, positioning his cock at her entrance, and then pushing into her more forcefully than she expected. She was tight, it had been too long since the last time, and the sudden sting startled her. She opened her eyes to find Bill staring at her with almost unbearable tenderness. That rare emotional expression, the one that frankly irritated her at any other time, almost broke her heart when she saw it now. Focused on her, needing something from her. Whatever it was, she hoped to the gods she was giving it to him. He deserved that much.

She lifted her hips to meet his, spreading her legs, letting him in further. The sting faded, leaving only the desire behind, and as if he sensed that, Bill pulled back and thrust deeper, then deeper still, until she felt the slap of his balls against her with each stroke, and felt his cock to her very core. He bottomed out against her cervix, and it hurt but felt good, felt right. For a fleeting moment she wished she could still get pregnant, that she could feel this mechanism of conception and know it was serving its gods-intended purpose. She imagined opening herself to him as he came and then discovering later that she was bearing his child, formed from this very act.

It was a dream-thought, lasting less than a second, but seeming hours long, fully formed images streaming past and then lost in the dark of sleep. This time, lost in the heat of arousal, the hypnotic motion of their hips in point and counterpoint. She was almost in pain, she needed to come so badly, and she thought she would have to help herself with her fingers but then realized she was going to come without that. Which never happened, but was happening now, and she cried out hoarsely as the spasms took her over, saturated her with pleasure, then wrung her out and left her limp. Bill's hips snapped forward into her sopping, sated heat, and she felt him throb and heard his own cry of satisfaction as he emptied himself inside her.

Then they breathed, and tried to wrap themselves more closely together, and when Bill tried to roll off, Laura held him there on top of her. She nuzzled into his shoulder and tightened her legs around his hips. He kissed her ear, and then nudged around with his nose to coax her lips toward his.

"I win," he said between feather-light kisses, almost-kisses, shared breathing with an occasional brush of lips.

"I don't think so." Laura smirked. She tightened her sheath around him and gloated at the flicker of tension across his face. "I always win, Bill."

He frowned, and then his fingers traced the side of her head above her ear. Delicate, perfectly-formed ear, completely unobscured by hair now. Her scalp tingled at the unfamiliar sensation of direct contact, and she turned her head a little into the contact. And then she froze, and Bill's fingers slowed to a stop. And then they looked at each other again in the flickering candlelight, and smiled. His smile sad, pained. Hers wry, resigned.

"You win," he conceded.

"I'll give you the robe as a consolation prize," she said softly, singing the words, as she sometimes seemed to do.

He slipped from her body with a sigh of regret, and stretched out beside her with his back to the wall of the bunk. Laura reached over and stroked his cheek, flattening her palm against his neck and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Then she rolled over and tucked herself against him, back to his broad chest, bottom cradled into his lap. After a minute he sat up enough to drag the rumpled sheet over them, and then tugged Laura back into position against his body, insinuating a leg between hers to get them closer still.

And then, for just a few minutes, they were able to lay there and fondle one another drowsily, enjoying their satisfaction and the distant but certain prospect of next time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at Survival Instinct.


End file.
